


Slow Burn

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Addiction, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alien anatomy, Alternate Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 23:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Exiled spy and tailor Elim Garak never thought to find a friend in Starfleet, but when he meets Dr. Julian Bashir, in time he comes to realize he is getting more than he ever bargained for. Over the course of the next two years, the two experience the ups and downs of life on a busy space station and learn that not all affairs of the heart begin with a bang.





	Slow Burn

**Part I**

_Elim Garak_  
Garak's Clothiers  
2369 

The first thing Garak noticed when he opened his shop the morning after all of his fellow Cardassians had abandoned the station without him was the light, the second the quiet. It was too bright by far and eerily silent. Already, he could feel the beginnings of a headache just behind his eyes. He gently massaged the scales of his eye ridges, careful not to rub against the growth pattern. It did nothing for the pain. It did calm him a bit. He hadn't let himself believe they would actually leave him until he awoke to find them gone. He felt more alone than he had since his father's punishments of the dreaded closet and closer to panic than he cared to admit, even to himself. Cardassians were social creatures, Garak more than most. He could only conclude that his father knew what torture this would be and made the decision to have him left behind for that very reason.

He puttered about, arranging clothing that would probably never see a buyer now. What Bajoran would be caught dead in Cardassian fashion? For that matter, what Bajoran would stoop to shop in a Cardassian owned business? How could he possibly make a living in this place without any customers?  _Calm yourself, Elim,_  he told himself.  _One step at a time. Put your Bajoran stock to the fore, and pack the Cardassian stock away._  Having a plan, even such a simple one, felt better. He set to work with a will and tried to ignore how cold the station felt that morning. Perhaps they didn't want to waste power during the transitional phase with the station so damaged by his people during the departure.

Activity on the Promenade happened sporadically. He expected to see the Bajorans, Odo, and the Ferengi. He didn't expect the number of humans he saw, many of them in Starfleet uniforms.  _Starfleeters, here?_  He wondered what they were doing and couldn't help but to notice how they lowered their voices or stopped talking altogether when they passed his shop and saw him inside. For his part, he feigned obliviousness and continued moving his stock. The look Odo gave him spoke volumes and made him inwardly cringe. He didn't want anyone's sympathy. The day he allowed himself to become an object of pity would be the day he lost so much of himself that further existence would be pointless and humiliating. He lifted his chin slightly and forced a smile, his brilliant blue eyes glittering as they caught the light. Let the shape shifter make of that what he would.

Several days passed in much the same fashion. He opened the shop and pretended to be busy. One or two curious Starfleeters came in and feigned interest in his clothing when any Cardassian past the age of four would be able to tell where their real focus lay. He, in turn, pretended to believe they intended to buy something and did his best to ignore the clumsy scrutiny. If all humans were as easy to read as these pseudo-customers, he hoped they would be gone soon before he withered away and died of sheer boredom. He reflected that he would rather have a Bajoran pick a fight or even a gaggle of Bajorans make a run on the shop than be stuck in this dull limbo.

Word began to spread, first in murmurs and whispers, then in open discussion, and lastly with the arrival of several Starfleet officers that the presence of the Starfleeters was no passing phase. They were there to stay for the foreseeable future, ostensibly to help Bajor during their transition from occupied territory to a free and sovereign system. Garak knew the truth of it. They were there to keep a proud and smarting Cardassia at bay, in case his government had a sudden change of heart, but there was more to it than that. He had no doubt that they intended to spread their insidious brand of propaganda and to court Bajor into their ever-growing fold. He watched them with much more subtlety than they had scrutinized him. By the end of the day, he already knew the names of most of the senior staff, along with their ranks and positions.

Most of them bored him, save one. That one was somehow different from the rest. The young, dark-haired doctor didn't know it, but he caught the eye and attention of the older Cardassian the moment he came into view on his way to the infirmary for the first time. It was the spring in his step, the alert intelligence in his eyes.  _There's a man who actually sees what's before him,_  Garak thought as he casually headed to one of his window displays to fuss with a sleeve and get a closer look. There was no denying that the young man was a fine physical specimen, attractive, and not just for a human. The Bajoran females around him noticed, obviously. To Garak's amusement, the doctor noticed them noticing and preened under the attention.

He gave a soft, dry chuckle and shook his head.  _You don't need that sort of complication, Elim,_  he said to himself.  _Enjoy the view, and leave it at that._  He thought that would be the end of it, but he underestimated the toll that Bajoran loathing and utter lack of decent conversation would take on him in the coming weeks. He forgot that a man dying of thirst will gulp down water even if he believes it to be tainted.

_Doctor Julian Bashir  
The Replimat Café_

Julian felt rooted to his seat, his heart and mind racing from what just occurred. To an outward observer, it wouldn't have seemed like much, a colorfully dressed Cardassian taking a seat with a Starfleet doctor, exchanging a few pleasantries, and then leaving again. The entire conversation couldn't have lasted more than three to four minutes, and yet Julian had almost completely lost his composure in that short amount of time. Who could blame him? For reasons he couldn't begin to fathom, the resident spy was taking an interest in him. He could still feel the pressure of the cool, gray hand on his shoulder in a squeeze of ambiguous intent. 

His cheeks colored at the memory of how blatantly he made his thoughts of the man known. As he relived the too brief encounter, he realized that nothing the supposed tailor said fully matched the look in his laser focused eyes or his almost mocking tone of voice. He couldn't contain his excitement anymore. He had to share what happened with the rest of the senior staff. Maybe they'd want to use him to gather intelligence on the Cardassian. They might even fit him with some sort of monitoring device!

He hurried to Ops as quickly as he could without losing all dignity, although he wished that he could run. He stepped out of the turbolift just as Commander Sisko came out of his office. _Impeccable timing,_ he thought to himself with satisfaction and immediately began to tell them of the encounter. None of them seemed to take it nearly as seriously as he did, and the arrival of a Bajoran craft being pursued by a Cardassian one precluded any further conversation along those lines. He turned his attention to the crisis at hand and gave the spy no more thought until hours later when he spotted him in Quark's Bar. He would later look back on that night and the whirlwind events that followed as only the beginning of how complicated things could be when dealing with Garak.

_Garak  
The Replimat Café_

Garak watched the doctor settle himself at the table they had shared every week for the past three months, flustered and out of breath. He gave an inward smile at how seriously the young human took these lunch dates. “You're late, Doctor,” he admonished. “I had almost given up on you.”

“I know,” Julian said. “I'm sorry. I've been swamped with patients all morning, and I lost track of the time.”

“Hmm,” Garak said lightly. “It must be nice to be so busy. I'm afraid I wouldn't know. Did you manage to get through the novel I gave you?”

The handsome face creased into an expression of displeasure he couldn't suppress quickly enough. “I did,” he said darkly.

That inward smile of the tailor's threatened to break out, amusement at the doctor's expense. “What did you think of it?” he asked just to needle the man. He could read well enough how ill of a fit Preloc was to Bashir's tastes.

“I don't understand the appeal,” the doctor confessed. “The story is extremely redundant, with the same thing happening over and over to generation after generation. After the first cycle, there was nothing to surprise or entertain, just more of the same.” He frowned deeply and stabbed his fork at a scalloped potato on his plate.

“You missed the point entirely if you expected entertainment,” Garak explained patiently. “My dear Doctor, if I wanted to entertain you, I'd teach you a game of kotra. There is more about Cardassian values and the Cardassian way of life in Preloc than you will ever find in one of your dry Starfleet briefings.”

Bashir chewed and swallowed his potato and washed it down with some of his tea. “I have to say, Garak, it all seems rather joyless and pedantic.”

“Precisely,” he said, beaming. He watched the man eat with a critical eye. It was almost disgusting the way these humans gulped down their food without bothering to taste it, but that was a discussion for another time. His new friend's tolerance for his brand of teasing only went so far. He took a small bite of his own food and chewed it slowly.

“Did you read the play I gave you?” the doctor asked.

It was Garak's turn for distaste. “Yes,” he said. “Tell me, Doctor, is mass stupidity a common plot device in Terran literature?”

Bashir almost choked on his tea, setting the cup down quickly. “What? Of course not. What are you talking about?”

“The play, of course,” Garak said, warming to his subject. “First of all, does Hamlet believe that the ghost he has seen is his father, or not?”

“Obviously, he believes him. Otherwise, he wouldn't set himself to the task of avenging his death,” he answered.

“Is that what you call it, setting himself to the task?” Garak asked in disbelief. “Because honestly, Doctor, I didn't see Hamlet accomplish much of anything beyond whining and moaning for a very large part of the first act. Why, he didn't even believe his father, instead concocting what should have been a pathetically obvious ploy to expose his uncle's guilt. Speaking of the uncle, why did he not kill the son at the same time that he killed the father? Who leaves family behind just to take revenge? And of course, when he realized that Hamlet knew, why did he not have him assassinated that very night? Why go through such needlessly complicated steps and involve such insufferably incompetent people to accomplish a task that ought to be ridiculously simple?”

Bashir smiled in that way he had when he thought he had caught Garak in something he didn't intend to reveal. Garak actually found it quite endearing, although he had no intention of telling the doctor that. “Are you saying all of that as a plain, simple tailor?” he asked.

Garak tutted. “If you must know, I'm saying all of that as a reasonably intelligent man, something I thought you to be before you gave me the play and told me how fond of it you were.” He smiled broadly, his blue eyes sparkling mischief.

“Very funny,” Bashir said, exasperated. “I have another one I believe you'll like more.”

“By a different playwright, I hope?” Garak said hopefully. He sighed as the doctor's expression shifted from exasperation to mild outrage. “No, of course that was too much to hope for. What is it called?” he asked in resignation. He vowed to himself he'd inflict an Enigma Tale on the man in retaliation.

“Julius Caesar,” came the confident reply.

_Julian_  
Private Quarters  
2370 

Julian shrugged out of his uniform and hung it neatly before slipping into a comfortable knit tunic and loose trousers. He was troubled as he thought of the events of the past few days, starting with the Cardassian boy's biting Garak's hand hard enough to draw blood and leave a small scar and ending with the boy's being torn away from his Bajoran adoptive parents and sent to Cardassia with his blood father. As with anything involving Cardassians, Garak in particular, it was a complex situation, the implications of which he felt he only partially understood.

“Why did I stick my neck out like that and ask for the runabout?” he wondered aloud as he moved through his quarters toward his replicator. “Why do I do anything that Garak asks me to do, for that matter? Tarkalean tea,” he ordered and carefully lifted the steaming cup when it appeared. He curled into a corner of his sofa and tucked a foot beneath him as he reached for a PADD with his free hand, yet another nearly unreadable epic by the damnably dull Preloc.

He gave up after catching himself reading the same paragraph three times in a row and checking to be sure it truly was the same paragraph and not a stylistic choice by the author. He couldn't stop thinking of the boy, Rugal, and how devastated and desperate his father, the Bajoran who had raised and cared for him all those years, became once he realized he would not be getting him back. He wondered what Garak really thought of the whole sordid mess and what his real history was with that intimidating Cardassian gul, Dukat. No matter what Garak or Dukat said, when he was in the presence of both, he didn't sense the feeling of two old friends, no, far from it. He was glad Garak never smiled at him the way he had smiled at the gul and hoped that Dukat would never look at him the way he had looked at Garak before leaving. He had to give Garak credit for not withering under that gaze or even batting an eye. He wasn't certain he would have been able to do the same.

He knew that if he was deeply honest with himself, he tolerated all of Garak's many idiosyncrasies and endless games within games because he challenged him like no one else ever had. With most people, even Dax who was very intelligent and had the experiences of many lives, he felt as though he was mostly going through the motions. They thought so slowly and took so long to reach conclusions that he found blatantly obvious thanks to his genetically enhanced intellect. None of them ever thought to question whether he was hiding anything from them, believing that they read him like an open book, none of them save Garak, who questioned everything, even things Julian failed to realize were significant until much later in the game.

No matter how hard he tried, he never felt like he could catch up to Garak's formidable intellect. It was maddening, refreshing, and completely engaging all at once. Where some might give up and despair of every solving the mystery that was the tailor, he pressed on gamely, confident that in time, he would find a crack in his friend's armor and see at least some of the things the Cardassian hid so well from the rest of the world. He felt lucky to have found such a challenge now that he was settled into the station and not as prone to finding everything as intriguing and exciting as he had the year previously. He picked up the dreaded Preloc yet again, knowing that if he hadn't finished reading it and Garak had finished his Shakespeare, he would never hear the end of it. Garak never seemed willing to take into account the vast difference in length between the two, or Julian's far busier schedule. No, he expected what he expected and had a very tart tongue when those expectations weren't met.

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

Garak's hands shook as he reached for the device secreted under his mattress. He pressed the button and relaxed as endorphins flooded his brain, washing away the throbbing pain of his headache and the bitter taste in his mouth after the events of the previous twenty-six hours. He had been a fool to believe anything that Gul Toran had to say. He even knew at the time that the attractive offer of forgiveness was made that it was too good to be true. Someone like Toran wouldn't have the pull or authority to release him from his exile, not with the way that Tain held grudges. He just wanted so desperately to go home! The only point of brightness in his exile at all was the doctor. It made him feel pathetic and weak to think such things, to need anyone for anything.

He lay down atop his covers and half closed his eyes, pleasure causing his body to thrum in deep, tranquil waves. Without the device implanted in his brain by the Obsidian Order, he knew he would have gone mad by now. He tried not to think of how often he used it, so much more than the few minutes per day he allowed himself in the beginning. The fact of the matter was that the doctor wasn't enough to compensate for the bright lights, the constant cold, the oppressive hatred that beat upon him day after day from the people all around him, his isolation from everyone and everything that had ever mattered to him before his exile, or the sheer banality of his existence as Deep Space 9's resident tailor. He missed Palandine desperately and wondered if she knew that he was the one who freed her from her brutish husband or even if she wanted to be free. The pair had played him once before, long ago. Could he be so sure he hadn't been played again in a far worse way?

He intensified the feed from the device to chase away the pain of such dark thoughts. Pleasure ratcheted to ecstasy, and for a while, he abandoned cognitive pursuits for pure sensation. Nothing upsetting could touch him when he reached that place. His body felt warm and languid, deliciously relaxed and tingling in every nerve. He moaned softly and gave over to it, slowly writhing atop his bed as though ministered by a skilled lover. After nearly two hours, he fumbled with the triggering mechanism and shut down the wire. His euphoria faded. It left him feeling empty and more alone than when he started. He sometimes wondered if the hard crash was worth the relief. When he had enough control of his body, he rolled to his side and stood. There was another weapon in his arsenal against despair that he kept on his sideboard in the sitting room. With clumsy hands, he poured himself a full glass of kanar. It would be the first of many that night.

Only once he had a strong buzz did his thoughts turn back toward the doctor. He pulled up in his mind's eye the man's earnest face, his brown eyes with their tiny flecks of green and gold. How many times had he looked into those eyes across their lunch table and longed to tell him something real, something honest and substantial? Why was it that every time he had that urge, he lied more than usual? He kept hoping that the man would see through it and really challenge him, yet he never did, at least never more than the dictates of politeness would allow. 

He still thought of that first day he approached him, how his pulse beat like a captive bird's wings just beneath the smooth brown flesh of his throat and how artless he was in his confrontation about his suspicions. Julian's shoulder had been surprisingly sturdy beneath his touch, and the man had shivered. Garak shivered lightly in resonance with the memory. Would the doctor be understanding of his varied appetites, or would he shrink away if he knew the less than pure thoughts he sometimes inspired? Why did he insist on pursuing that Trill who had no interest in him and treated him like an annoying puppy when there was someone much closer who would be more than happy to entertain his interest? For all Garak knew, Bashir wasn't even interested in men, much less alien men. Although he had no trouble reading him when it came to most topics, this was one topic he hadn't yet had the courage to broach.

He set aside his glass, determined to rectify the situation that very night. Not bothering to check the wall chronometer, he stalked from his room with the overly careful steps of the too intoxicated. The habitat ring lay empty before and behind him, no one stirring at that hour. Undaunted, he made his way steadily to the doctor's quarters and stopped just outside the door. He lifted his hand to trigger the computer hail and hesitated. “What are you doing, Elim?” he murmured softly. “What do you intend to say? Good evening, Doctor. I couldn't sleep because I was wondering how it would feel to stroke my hands over your bare skin. Do you ever wonder the same thing about me?”

He snorted in disgust, “That's what too much kanar will get you.” Worried that Odo might spot him about on one of his patrols, he hurried away from the door, even though it meant staggering slightly. He hated himself for what he had almost done. Another part of him hated him even more for not doing it.  _Coward,_  the voice sneered,  _so afraid of losing him, you won't even try to see if you can truly have him. How far the mighty has fallen._  More kanar silenced the voice and brought him the sleep he desperately needed. The next morning, he put the whole wretched incident out of his thoughts and vowed to himself he would never repeat it again. 

**Part II**

_Julian  
The Infirmary_

Julian found himself once again losing track of his update of the medical records. In a fit of pique, he shut down the display and sat back heavily against his chair back. It had been nearly two weeks since he had journeyed to Arawath Colony to obtain the information that would save Garak's life from the malfunctioning implant in his skull. Since then Garak had seemed content to act as though nothing at all had happened, as glib and infuriatingly smug as ever. Their lunch meetings continued on schedule, their conversations about literature and politics, everything. Yet, nothing was the same, not for the young doctor.

His cheeks flamed with embarrassment when he thought of how he held Garak's hand and listened so eagerly and earnestly to every tale he spun him from his hospital bed and how gleefully Enabran Tain disabused him of any notion he had that Garak trusted him with the simple revelation that the mysterious Elim was not Garak's friend or cohort, but Garak himself.  _Elim Garak,_  he thought, shaking his head and frowning deeply.  _Did you enjoy playing me? Did you feast on every concerned look and touch with secret amusement at my expense? Don't you realize how much that hurts?_

There was the crux of the issue, the sting that went so much deeper than his skin. When Garak had been dying, Julian thought that at last the Cardassian trusted him and realized that he was important to him. Why else had Garak so carefully cultivated his association if not to reach out in his loneliness and form a bond of friendship? Dax had warned him in her annoyingly superior way that Garak didn't truly see him as a friend. If it was so blatantly obvious to her from the distance she maintained from the tailor, why had it not been obvious to him? After all this time, how could he still have blind spots in regard to the mysterious Cardassian? Wouldn't he be better off just writing him off the way the rest of them did, making use of him as needed and staying away from him most of the time?

He glanced at the time and set his jaw. Garak would be expecting him for lunch any moment. He was tired of answering to the tailor's exacting expectations and receiving nothing in return but hidden barbs, obfuscations, and that bland smile that could mean anything at all. He didn't care if Garak felt no real gratitude for his saving his life. As a doctor, he'd save his worst enemy and think nothing of it. What bothered him tremendously was how one sided it seemed their association really was, how all that time he thought they had something real when, in fact, it was likely as illusory as Garak's fanciful tales of “Elim”.

“Sir?” one of the Bajoran nurses stuck her head into his office. “It's almost lunch time.”

“I know,” he said, bringing the display of medical record updates back online. “I'm not particularly hungry right now. I'll grab something later. Why don't you go ahead? I'll man the fort.”

“All right,” she agreed and left him to his work.

He didn't care that he was more successful at pretending to work for the rest of the afternoon than actually accomplishing anything. It was a slow day, which was just as well. He wasn't sure what good he would do a patient with anything but the most basic of problems in his state of mind. He had tried his best to put the thought of all of Garak's lies out of his head to no avail. The thought festered and fed his anger and resentment at being played. He had long known that Garak never said all that he meant. The thought that he had continued playing that game even on what he believed to be his deathbed spoke volumes to Julian about how he must really feel.  _Such contempt you have for me,_  he thought bitterly.

He left the infirmary late in the afternoon. Noticing Garak locking up for the evening, he hurried toward the turbolift in the hopes that he hadn't been spotted. Garak caught up to him effortlessly and fell into step with him at his side. “I missed you at lunch today, Doctor,” he said. “Busy day?”

“Yes,” Julian said curtly, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. He could feel Garak's eyes on him without even having to glance his way. The assessment felt like pressure at his side. He determined not to give him a centimeter of feedback, setting his face to as neutral of an expression as he could manage in his black mood.

“It must have been draining. You look tense,” Garak continued. “Perhaps we could get a drink at Quark's.”

“I'm not tense,” he snapped. He stopped to wait for the turbolift, lacing both hands at the small of his back and spreading his feet in a wide stance.

Garak's eyes widened slightly. “If you say so,” he said.

“I do.”

“Noted.”

“Stop that. Stop sneaking in the last word. It's annoying,” Julian huffed.

“Sneaking?” Garak's eyes twinkled. “When do I ever sneak? I was being quite blatant about it, I thought.”

The turbolift arrived. To his chagrin, Garak stepped in with him. As the lift began to rise, Julian folded his arms across his chest and looked up at the ceiling. It was the only way he could avoid having the Cardassian in his peripheral vision without turning his back altogether.

“I get the distinct impression you're not happy with me,” Garak said.

“I can't imagine why you'd think that,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“There,” he replied, undaunted. “That tone in your voice, your refusal to look at me, your body language, everything about you at the moment is telling me that you're angry. Would you care to tell me what it is I'm supposed to have done so that I can apologize, and we can put the whole thing behind us?”

He looked at him then. As usual, there was nothing to be read in the carefully crafted demeanor except what Garak wanted him to see, in this case somewhat condescending solicitousness. “You really do think it's that easy, don't you?” he said heatedly. “Whatever you've done this time, you'll mouth a few platitudes, I'll swallow it whole like a particularly fat and stupid fish with a hooked worm, and we can go about our business pretending to be friends so you can avoid complete boredom in a place you clearly loathe.”

“Is this about what I said to you when you first got me into the infirmary?” he asked, frowning slightly. “I hope you understand I wasn't myself when I said those unkind things. I enjoy our lunches and our conversations very much.”

“That's just it, Garak,” Julian enunciated every word precisely. “When are you yourself? At our lunches? I strongly doubt it. When you come to me in the middle of the night demanding I procure us a runabout so that you can play games with others' lives? When you think you're on your deathbed? When? I'd dearly love to know...Elim.”

To his surprise, Garak flinched very slightly at the sound of his name coming from his mouth in that tone of voice. “I see,” he said heavily, a complex look fleeting behind his eyes. “You think that because I don't tell you things the way you'd prefer to hear them that I care nothing for you or our friendship.”

“Computer, stop lift,” the doctor barked out. “Don't you dare even try to turn this around and play the wounded party. I'd think that after all I've done for you, I deserve better than that.” As soon as he said it, he regretted the way he had phrased it, but it was too late to take it back.

“Ah,” Garak said mildly. “I knew you Federation doctors weren't as altruistic as you claim. So tell me, Doctor, what do I owe you for all you've done? I'll assume that you mean my life, of course, but what else? Tolerating my company for almost two years? Slogging through literature you think is far inferior to your own preferred reading, and it must be so, because anything that doesn't promulgate Federation ideals and Terran culture is inherently of lesser value. Helping me get to the bottom of a ploy that could have undermined the foundations of my home-world government? I've racked up quite the debt queue. Where shall we start?”

He looked into the now icy blue eyes and sighed. “That's not what I meant,” he said.

“Isn't it? Please, don't insult my intelligence. I'm a much better liar than you. You think that simply because I lied to you that night that there was no truth in the moments we shared.” He glanced up and to the side, saying, “Computer, start lift.”

They continued their ascent. “What am I supposed to think?” Julian asked, frustrated. 

“Well, I'm sure you can think whatever you like,” he answered with offhand sarcasm. “I'm not your keeper.”

“No, you're not, but I naively hoped that you were at least my friend. Dax tried to warn me. I didn't listen to her. I didn't want to believe it.” If he hadn't held such tight control of himself, he realized to his horror that he'd be close to tears. That was something he could never allow the implacable Cardassian to see if he hoped to retain any self-respect.

“Oh, Dax,” Garak spat. “I suppose you consider Dax a good friend, even though she treats you like a boy instead of a man and shunts aside your every move the way you might swat a fly? Is that the Dax you mean, or is there some other Dax of which I'm not aware?”

“At least she's honest with me,” he retorted. “She doesn't string me along feigning affection while feeling contempt. I suppose I've been very entertaining for you these past two years, the naïve, idealistic Starfleet officer who hangs on your every word and sticks his neck out more than he ought to. You've been having quite the laugh behind my back, I'd wager.”

“Computer, stop lift,” Garak said as soon as they reached a floor where he could disembark. He stepped out and whirled back to face Julian. “Don't flatter yourself,” he sneered. “You're mildly entertaining at best, hardly worth a good laugh. You needn't worry that I'll waste any more of my time with you.”

“You're assuming I'd let you,” Julian retorted in kind. Only when the lift had resumed and taken him out of Garak's view did he lift shaking hands and run them down his face. They had verbally sparred plenty of times over lunch, but aside from his wire induced erratic behavior, Garak had never attacked him like that before. It wasn't fair or right, either, as far as he was concerned. Regardless of how Garak tried to twist it, Julian was the wounded party in this. Garak could either come to that realization and apologize, or he could find out the real meaning of being alone on the station. A small part of him protested that he was taking it too far based only on part of the picture, but he was too angry to listen to that part. He stalked to his room for a long sonic shower and did his best to set the entire thing aside. He wasn't going to solve anything by stewing over it.

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

Garak sagged against the door after it shut behind him. The argument with the doctor had him conflicted. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Julian was furious with him, and he knew that from the way the doctor viewed the world, he had a right to be. From his own perspective, the verbal jousting was as stimulating as it was irritating. There was no way the doctor could possibly know that what had transpired in the turbolift would be considered foreplay on Cardassia, and there was no way he intended to tell him.

He inhaled deeply a few times, calming himself and exorcising the pent sexual tension. It wouldn't serve to do anything but to cloud his mind when he needed to be able to think clearly. How could he possibly mend this tear in the fabric of their friendship when the doctor understood him so little? How could the man not know what a tremendous act of trust it was for Garak to allow him to see him and stay with him at his most vulnerable? So what if he hadn't given him exact details? There were worlds of truth in the subtext of everything he had told him. Julian was an intelligent man. Why didn't he use that mind of his more often?

“What am I supposed to do, present everything to him on a gold pressed latinum platter?” he snorted. “Not in this lifetime.” The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. “What, Tain tells you one thing about me when you've been in his company all of twenty minutes, and you find him more credible than me after almost two years? It never occurs to you that he may have ulterior motives? So you play right into his hands and help him to isolate me further.”

He paced as he spoke, feeling the build of another one of his migraines. Stubbornly, he avoided taking any of the pills the doctor had given him just for that purpose, instead resorting to his old stand by, a bottle of well aged kanar. He consumed the entire bottle in the space of an hour and another before three hours had passed.

The entire time he talked to himself, more precisely, to Julian who wasn't there. He railed and accused; he apologized and begged forgiveness, and then he returned to railing. How dare he? How dare he take him to task for being who he was, who Tain had made him? How dare he accept Tain's word as gospel when it came to all things Elim Garak and discard Garak's own words as worthless just because they didn't conform to his narrow, unimaginative definition of truth? There was more truth in his little finger than Tain possessed in his entire bloated body.

For the second time since he had met him, Garak left his quarters more full of kanar than sober sense to give Julian a piece of his mind. This time, he didn't hesitate once he reached the doctor's door. He hailed him several times in rapid succession.

“Hold on! Just a minute!” came Julian's irritated voice through the comm. He opened the door and immediately put an arm up against the frame to prevent Garak from coming inside. “What do you want?” he demanded angrily. “I thought you said you were done with me.”

Garak eyed him blearily and shoved past him with force.

“Hey!” Julian yelped, quickly following him and grasping his shoulder. “What do you think you're doing, barging into my quarters?” As he turned him, he pulled a face. “You've been drinking,” he said. “I don't want you here drunk. Go home and sleep it off.”

“I'll leave in a minute,” Garak said, “but not before I've said what I have to say.”

“You said enough in the turbolift,” the doctor retorted. “More than enough.”

“You're an idiot,” Garak snarled.

“Oh, brilliant! Thank you so very much for that. You walked all the way down here and invited yourself in just to say that? Let me guess. Tomorrow, you'll try to claim it was the kanar talking.”

“If you'll stop interrupting me, I'll finish that thought,” he said through gritted teeth. “After all the time we've spent together, I thought you'd know,” he added. “I thought you'd see that if I didn't trust you to a greater degree than I've allowed myself to trust anyone in a very long time, I never would have let you near me when the wire started to malfunction. I'd sooner die than let one of those damned Bajorans or even most of you Starfleeters touch me in a state like that. You held my hand. How could you not know?” He felt all of his long sorrow and loneliness bubbling up, loosened by the liberal dosage of kanar and the genuine hurt he felt due to the doctor's assumptions. He'd be damned if he intended to let the man see it, his eyes hard.

The doctor searched his gaze, clearly wary. “Garak, how could I know? All of those things you told me, none of them true. Do you have any idea how much it stung standing in front of that horrid man and having him laugh at me because you pulled one over on me?”

“So it's about your pride,” Garak said, turning away and further hurt. “I should have realized.”

“No,” Julian replied, grasping his shoulder and attempting to turn him back toward him. “It's about how I feel and how it doesn't seem to matter to you, not even a little bit.”

He allowed him to turn him. “How can you say that? Have you seen me seek anyone else out on this station on a regular basis in all the time you've known me? Do you truly believe that I would share the literature I love best with someone like Chief O'Brien or Odo? Would I read whatever they gave me, no matter how dreadful, just so we'd have something safe to discuss over lunch?” It took him a split second to realize what he had said with his drink loosened tongue and less time than that for Julian to pounce on it.

“Something safe?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “Garak, in all of our dealings, have I ever seriously pried into anything I knew you didn't want me to know? Do you honestly believe that I hope to obtain state secrets from you for Starfleet?”

He closed his eyes briefly in relief. The man had no idea what he had just said. Let him think it was about that. Even that was safer than what was almost revealed. “Isn't that what you think I'm doing with you for Cardassia?”

Julian's brown eyes narrowed, not angrily, but thoughtfully. “I don't doubt you would if I were to let something slip,” he said. “That's not what you were talking about, though. I can tell. You meant something else.”

“Don't change the subject,” Garak chided him, his heart racing faster.

“What are you talking about?” he asked with a puzzled expression.

“You were talking about how you feel,” he said, raising his voice to sound more challenging, “and my supposed callousness toward you. Well, here I am, Doctor.” He spread his arms wide. “I'm completely at your disposal. Tell me all about how you feel.”

“You're mocking me,” Julian said, turning away. “If that's what you came here to do, you can turn yourself right around again and sod off. I don't have to take this in my own quarters.”

Garak laughed. “I'm not sure the universal translator handled what you just said adequately. I could almost swear you just told me to strip turf.”

When the man turned back to face him again, he wasn't laughing. His cheeks were hotly flushed, his fists balled. “I said sod off. It means leave. I really think you should.”

“Or what, Doctor? Are you going to hit me? Do you think that would be wise?” He was becoming aroused again despite himself. It didn't matter that Julian didn't intend it. It was an instinctive response to the increasingly heated exchange.

“That would give you tremendous satisfaction, to know that you had provoked me so thoroughly that I lost my temper and my common decency. No, I have no intention of hitting you, but I'm very angry with you, and...and I'm hurt, Garak. There, I've said it. Are you happy now? It's what you intended, isn't it?”

He felt much of the heat drain out of him at the confession. He hadn't anticipated that the man would say any such thing. Of course he had been deliberately hurtful to deflect from his slip of the tongue. Hearing it come directly from him was an experience he had never had with another Cardassian, much less a human. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he tried to play it safe and say nothing at all.

“Oh, come on. I'm disappointed,” Julian sneered. “No gloating at your point scored? What would Tain say to your sudden loss of stomach for the game?”

“Tain would be delighted that we're at odds,” he answered quietly. “It's what he intended in telling you my name and exposing what I had told you as a fabrication. He can't stand the thought that I may have found some comfort here in my exile. Oh, yes, Doctor, don't look so surprised. If I could go home, don't you think that I would've by now?”

“Am I really a comfort?” Julian asked, dropping his voice to match Garak's volume.

Garak nodded, breaking eye contact. “Yes, very much so,” he said. His heart had started to race again, this time for a different reason. He was no longer aroused, but he was nervous at this turn in the conversation. It hit too close to home for comfort. “If you truly believe I care nothing for you, say so. I'll leave, and I swear to you I won't bother you again.”

Julian hesitantly stepped closer, his hands relaxing from their tight clench. “I don't know what to believe,” he said. “I want to think we're friends. I want to believe that the...affection...I feel for you is mutual.”

“Affection?” Garak murmured, hazarding a glance at the man's dark, liquid eyes.

“Yes,” he said more loudly. “Affection. I'm fond of all of my friends, Garak, including you.”

“Of course,” Garak said rather stiffly, feeling like an old fool. What did he possibly have to offer this young man other than what he already provided, guidance in becoming more observant and cynical and stimulating lunch conversation? Why had he let his need run away with him to such a large degree? He knew that he had better leave soon if he didn't want to turn this reconciliation into a complete fiasco. He was too intoxicated to trust himself, even if he wasn't showing it much outwardly.

“What is it?” Julian stepped closer yet, trying to get Garak to meet his gaze again. “What did I say?”

“Nothing, Doctor,” Garak rallied. “Nothing wrong, that is. I'm glad to know you feel that way, and I'm sorry I haven't made it more obvious that it's mutual. I regret that my lack of demonstrativeness led us to this point of misunderstanding. Now that it's cleared up, I should be getting back to my quarters. As you said, I'm too intoxicated for polite company.”

He took a few steps toward the door but stopped when he felt Julian's warm hand clasp over his shoulder. “Garak...Elim...stop. Please,” the doctor said so gently it made him want to weep.

_Please, don't give me pity,_  he thought desperately, turning and dreading what he might find in those dark eyes. It was a conflicted look, one not easy to read, but whatever it was, it wasn't pity. He held his breath, willing the man to say something to break the unbearable tension of the moment.

“I know I'm missing something,” he said. “I can tell. Just this once, help me? Tell me what it is. I don't want to be at odds with you. I don't like fighting with you. It ties my stomach in knots.”

Garak smiled a bit sadly, also immensely relieved. He could take just about anything from this man except pity. “We're not at odds anymore,” he assured him. “I'm not angry, but I am tired. I think I should get to bed and sleep this kanar off.”

“If you're sure,” Bashir said. He looked even younger than usual in his uncertainty, a crease forming between his brows.

Garak felt the irrational impulse to kiss it away.  _It is definitely time to go,_  he told himself firmly. “I'm positive,” he said, forcing a smile. “Don't think any more of it, Doctor. I'll see you next week for lunch?”

Bashir nodded, still grasping his shoulder. When Garak glanced questioningly at his hand, he dropped it back to his side. “Yes,” he said. “I'm sorry about today. It was petty of me not to just tell you I was hurt.”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed, a teasing twinkle coming back into his gaze. “Fortunately for you, I'm not one to let such things lie. Good night, Doctor.”

“Good night...Elim,” Bashir said right before his door closed and shut the Cardassian out.

Garak shivered and swallowed in a suddenly dry mouth. He had ridden the ragged edge of disaster and barely kept himself in check. He decided he couldn't trust himself drunk around such a tempting target again. He hadn't lied when he told the doctor that he cared for him. No matter how starved he was for physical affection, however, he was determined that he wouldn't allow his need and desire to overshadow what the human obviously viewed as a platonic friendship. He didn't think the doctor would appreciate the irony that he held Garak in the same position in which Dax held him.  _Not quite the same, Elim,_  a wry part of his consciousness informed him.  _You haven't told him how you really feel._  “Nor do I intend to,” he muttered aloud, walking swiftly back the way he had come. The more distance he put between himself and the doctor in the mood he was in, the safer it was for both of them and the survival of what he had miraculously managed to mend.

_Julian  
Private Quarters_

Long after Garak had left that night, Julian wracked his brain trying to figure out what it was that he was missing when it came to their conversation. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that Garak seemed nervous about something ever since...yes, ever since the comment he made about having something safe to talk about over lunch. Naturally, Julian had assumed he was referring to secrets from his past or of his government, but was he? What other dangerous subjects could they possibly cover? He went to bed with the question tumbling around in his mind like a loose rock, hoping that maybe after a full night's sleep, he'd be alert enough to come up with an answer.

He awoke to the sensation of his covers slowly slipping down his bare chest. When had he undressed? “Computer, lights,” he said in a sleep muzzy voice. The system didn't respond. By then the covers had reached his waist. “Computer!” he tried again to no avail. “Who's there?” he called out and tried to grab for the edge of the fabric. At the last instant, it was whisked away from him, leaving him exposed. “Answer me!” he demanded.

An answer of sorts came in the form of cool hands sliding up his thighs with firm, even pressure. Instead of shying away, he found himself pressing into the touch. He lay his head back on his pillow and gasped aloud, unafraid. “That feels good,” he murmured. The hands stroked and teased, fingertips cupping over his tender inner thighs and dancing upward. The palms pressed over the cusps of his hip bones, slipped higher over the soft expanse of his flat belly, his rib cage, and then his chest. As they slid back downward, nails raked his skin now gone to goose flesh and flicked over his dusky nipples, hard as pebbles. He arched his back and moaned, twisting over his thin mattress.

Warm breath caressed the lower curve of his belly. He felt himself harden so fully it was almost painful. Reaching downward he found his mystery assailant with both hands. His fingers sifted into soft, thick hair, silky smooth and positively luxurious to the touch. Delving deeper, he raked his nails over scalp and felt a distinctive pattern of ridges beneath each hand. “G—Garak?” he asked in shock, his heart skipping a beat and starting to race.

He tried to sit up, but the gentle hands turned implacable, pushing him back down into the bed with insistent pressure. He felt his legs pinned by stronger legs. Although he bucked and twisted, he could find no advantage and no purchase to gain one. The Cardassian's skin was hard, cool scale, well armored for such endeavors. He pushed uselessly at broad shoulders and tugged even more uselessly at the thick hair. His struggles died the moment he felt a warm, wet, impossibly long tongue wrap languidly about his erection and begin to do to him things he had never known a tongue could do.

Within moments, he reached fever pitch. He still bucked beneath the heavier man, but not to throw him off. He arched his hips upward and pressed down with both hands on Garak's head, driving himself as deeply into the maddening mouth as he possibly could. He felt Garak's nose grinding into his thick thatch of pubic hair. “Yes,” he panted. “Oh, God, yes. Please, don't stop. I'm so close...”

He came so hard that the base of his balls ached and throbbed. The sensation jolted him wide awake. His covers were a tangled mess in more ways than one, and sweat had soaked clean through his pajamas. “Oh, God,” he gasped, still twitching and juddering from the most intense orgasm he could ever recall. “Computer, lights!” he said quickly. Bright light stabbed into his skull. He blinked back reflexive tears, his gaze darting blearily around his room. There was no sign of the Cardassian. “Computer,” he said, “where is Garak?”

“Garak is on Habitat Level H-3, Chamber 901,” the emotionless female voice intoned.

“How long has he been there?” he asked, unable to believe that such a vivid dream came out of nowhere.

“Garak has been in Chamber 901 for four hours, thirty-two minutes, and fifteen seconds,” came the response.

“Was there any transporter activity in my room tonight?” he asked, scrubbing his hands vigorously down his cheeks.

“Negative.”

“Any intruders?”

“Negative.”

He sighed and threw his feet over the side of the bed so that he could clean up and change into another set of pajamas. Every time his mind trod even close to the contents of the dream, he felt himself go hot all over, burning with shame and something else, an echo of desire. What in the world would Garak think of him if he found out he had such a dream? How would he be able to hide the fact from the frighteningly observant man? Even if he didn't come out and say specifically what had happened, the Cardassian would know something had changed. He'd read it in his eyes. “How can I face him?” he asked.

“Rephrase the question,” the computer droned.

“No, computer,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I'm done with my inquiries for now.”  _Think, Julian,_  he thought as he stripped from his damp pj's and stepped into the sonic shower.  _What did you learn in those two psychology classes they made you take at Academy?_ “Dreams are almost never literal,” he said aloud. His skin tingled pleasantly from the shower as his sweat and his seed were shaken away.  _So what did it mean?_  He wondered. “Dreams of sex can indicate a desire to be closer to someone,” he recalled. “It's not even uncommon for parents and older children to have sexual dreams of one another. They don't indicate a latent attraction or perversion, just a deep seated desire for more emotional intimacy with the subject.”

He felt better with that rationalization, particularly in the context of their recent argument. Stepping from the shower, he shrugged into his fresh pajamas. His body still basked in the afterglow of the intense release. Instead of going straight back to bed, he replicated himself a cup of tea and curled up on his couch with the Enigma Tale Garak had saddled him with for their weekly reading. If anything could remove the last traces of erotic craving from his mind, it would be the convoluted murder mystery where everyone was guilty and he had to figure out how and of what. Cardassian intrigue was positively exhausting. He fell asleep with his head resting against the back of his sofa at an awkward angle and awoke with a horrible crick in his neck. “Lovely,” he muttered.

He dressed himself quickly and headed in to work, expecting another slow day. By lunch time, he had finished with the updates to the records. Although he felt accomplished, he also felt sore and stiff. He could barely turn his head to the right, with the left only marginally better. He was about to stand when a familiar voice at the door to his office froze him in place. Even though Garak hadn't spoken to him in his dream, the smooth voice cut through him and awakened unexpected desire. “I'm sorry for interrupting you,” the tailor said. “The nurse said it was fine for me to come back to you. I wanted to catch you before you left for lunch.”

With his heart racing, Julian tried to calm himself.  _This is ridiculous,_  he thought.  _It was a dream. Get hold of yourself!_  He tried to turn to look at Garak and found he had to use his whole chair to do it, wincing from the aborted attempt to turn his head.

Garak's brow ridges dipped in concern, and he crossed the threshold into the small room. “Is something wrong, Doctor? Did you somehow hurt yourself after I retired last evening?”

“No,” he brushed off his concern. “I just slept wrong, so I have a crick in my neck.”

“Oh, that is most unpleasant,” Garak sympathized. “It doesn't often happen to us Cardassians, but when it does, you can imagine the difficulty it causes. I've been told I have a decent touch for such things. Would you like for me to help you?” he asked, stepping closer.

“No!” he said too quickly and too loudly by far. “I mean, it's really nothing, Garak. I wouldn't want you to put yourself out on my behalf.”

Garak's eyes narrowed slightly, and Julian felt himself squirm under the intense scrutiny. “I came to offer to buy you lunch at Quark's, my way of apologizing for yesterday's unpleasantness and barging into your quarters uninvited. I believed that we had smoothed over that difficulty. Was I mistaken?”

“No,” he answered. “No, you weren't mistaken. Lunch at Quark's sounds splendid. Thank you.” He forced a smile and resisted the impulse to wipe his damp palms on his uniform trousers.

“Turn around,” Garak insisted. “As much as you've helped me, this is the least I can do for you in return. It won't take long.” Brooking no argument, Garak turned his chair for him and settled both hands to the back of his neck. Julian braced himself, expecting the Cardassian to dig his fingers painfully into the muscle right away. He didn't, instead beginning with long, gentle strokes of fingers and palms, starting at the base of his skull up into his hairline and sweeping downward over his shoulders and to mid-back. “Too many people don't relax the outer layer of muscle first,” he explained in a clinical voice. “They squeeze and push too hard at the outset, doing more harm than good.”

“Mnh,” he said, fighting a shiver. The Cardassian's hands felt almost just as they had in his dream, only slightly rougher in texture, his palms coated with scales as fine as those of a small lizard's. The doctor tucked his sweat damp hands beneath his thighs and tipped his head forward as much as he could against the stiffness.

“No need to round your back like that,” Garak said, seizing his shoulders and giving an expert shake to loosen him. “Just relax and let me do all the work, hmm?”

“All right,” he said. He wondered if Garak would hear the hint of breathlessness in his voice.

“That's better, Doctor,” the tailor said serenely. It didn't take him long to hone in on the problem areas. With each squeeze, prod, and stroke of his hands, he kneaded more deeply into the cramped muscles. Julian almost groaned aloud when he felt the heel of Garak's palm circling into the tight knot between his shoulder blades. The back of his neck loosened in response. In less time than he would've believed possible, Garak had him pain free. Had it not been for the memory of the dream so vivid in his mind, he would have been far more relaxed. “Turn your neck for me,” Garak instructed.

He did so, astonished to discover he had regained his full range of motion without so much as a twinge of discomfort. “How did you learn to do that?” he asked, looking up at the man over his shoulder and extremely aware of the hands still lightly resting to either side of his neck.

“You learn all sorts of things as a tailor,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Better now? Any lingering tension?”

_You have no idea,_ he thought ruefully. “No, no more tension,” he said, unable to meet his inquisitive gaze.

Garak removed his hands from Julian's shoulders and turned his chair again so the doctor was facing him. “Doctor,” he said. “I have a distinct...talent...for sensing discomfort. You can tell me. Did you somehow hurt yourself last night? There's no need to be embarrassed.”

“I didn't hurt myself,” he insisted and turned the chair away. He waited a few beats before pushing to his feet. It wouldn't do for Garak to see any trace of his lingering, unintended effect on him. He imagined the older man would be horrified, possibly even offended. He, himself, had no idea what to do with the intrusive new thoughts and feelings. He had never had experience with men on any level beyond experimenting superficially in his early academy years, his few fumbling forays across the line facilitated by too much drink and never going very far. This felt different. This was someone he genuinely cared about and respected. How could he possibly jeopardize that? Garak was standing too close. He wanted to put some distance between them but couldn't figure out how to do it without being obvious. “About lunch,” he said brightly. “Does the offer still stand?”

Garak eyed him a long moment before nodding. “Yes, of course,” he said. As he turned toward the door, Julian thought he caught a flash of hurt and disappointment cross the man's craggy features.

“Garak, wait,” he said. He felt light headed with the thought of what he was about to do, but he couldn't stand the thought of the tailor's believing that there was lingering acrimony on his part or an excess of mistrust. “Computer, close and lock door,” he said. The door hissed into place.

Frowning, Garak pivoted to face him. “Doctor?” he asked, a brow ridge raised and his expression demanding of an explanation.

He swallowed thickly and wiped his hands down his trousers. “I...I had a dream last night,” he said. Blood pounded in his ears with a steady, throbbing whoosh. He felt heat rising from his neck to his hairline, and he continued in a rush before he could lose his nerve. “It was about you. It was...it was confusing.”

Garak stood as still as stone, his eyes fixed unblinking on Julian's. “Confusing how?” he asked mildly. “What happened in the dream? Did it frighten you?”

“It didn't frighten me in the dream,” he answered truthfully, “but once I was awake, yes. I felt very disconcerted.”

“Was it violent?” he asked. “Did I harm you in some way? The fight was upsetting. It could easily explain such a thing, you know.”

“It wasn't violent. You were...you were forceful, but you didn't hurt me,” he said, swallowing again. “It was...” his voice trailed off and he dropped his gaze. “It was a sexual dream, Garak. I thought I'd have more time before I saw you to get it out of my head. I...I don't see you that way,” he tried to assure him. “At least, I didn't. Now...well, would you say something? I'm floundering all over the place, and I want to get this straightened out so that it doesn't ruin our friendship. You have to know I'd never do anything like that to you. It's bad enough that I've chased after Dax all this time like a love sick puppy. When I think of doing it to you...”

Garak cut him off. “You'd never pursue me sexually?” he asked sharply.

“N—no! I respect you too much for that,” he said, almost stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out.

“So you only sexually pursue people you don't respect?” he asked tartly. “What would Lieutenant Dax think of that, I wonder, or any of the number of other women I've seen you chasing over the past two years?”

“You're twisting my words,” Julian said desperately. “I can see that I've offended you, and that's exactly what I wanted to avoid. I didn't want to tell you about the dream at all!”

“Then why did you?” the tailor demanded.

“Because you could see that something wasn't right, and I've never been any good at lying to you. I didn't want you thinking I was still angry with you or hiding things from you because I didn't trust you.”

“You trust me?” Garak snorted. “After all this time, I honestly thought I was making progress with you. I'm sorely disappointed. You should know better than that by now.” Garak's eyes glittered dangerously in the ambient office light.

Julian stared at him, horribly frustrated. “I could tell it upset you. Don't try to pretend it didn't. I can't win in this situation, can I? You would've been hurt had I said nothing, and you're completely offended now that I have.”

“You're so certain it's your dream that has offended me?” Garak snapped. Julian could see that his hands were balled into tight fists.

“Well, yes, what else could it...could it be?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer. His breath caught in his throat, and he distanced himself from his emotional upset to really look at Garak.  _Oh, Julian, you idiot,_  he thought, his gaze softening. “Garak,” he said, reaching for the other man's hand, but Garak was having none of it, jerking back forcefully.

“Don't,” he said tightly. “Don't you dare look at me like that. Don't you dare feel sorry for me! Unlock this door. Unlock it at once!”

“Feel sorry for you?” he gaped at him. “Is that what you think? Look at me, Elim. Stop being so damned stubborn, and look at me!”

He almost staggered from the weight and heat of the other man's gaze. Garak's blue eyes had gone from ice to fire in an instant. His voice came thickly, the words in a swift tumble. “Don't toy with me,” he said. “I won't stand for it. I'm not some naïve child you can charm with your stories of Academy, and I won't be satisfied with some passing dalliance you'll set aside as soon as something more attractive comes along. If you want me, you had better mean it, Julian,” he warned.

For once he believed the man was being completely truthful with him. He had never seen Garak like this before, unmasked and fighting for himself and his needs no holds barred. It thrilled him in a secret corner of his heart he rarely, if ever, let anyone touch to know that this man, this magnificent, proud, complex man was telling him that he was more to him than a passing fancy, that he fully expected that if Julian acted on his attraction, it would be more than a one time thing, more than a fling. At the same time, he felt trepidation. He knew beyond any doubt that all it would take would be one perceived act of betrayal on his part for Garak to cut him out of his heart forever. This was not the sort of man who gave second chances. In fact he rarely gave first ones.

Tentatively, he closed the short distance between them, only having to look down slightly to keep eye contact. If he thought the look Gul Dukat had given Garak was intense, it was nothing compared to the naked challenge he faced now. The look seemed to dare him to make a move, or perhaps dared him not to. He lifted slightly trembling hands and cupped Garak's ridged jawline in each, the middle finger tips of both settling naturally into the clefts formed close to the base of the Cardassian's ears where the ridge diverged into two. 

Garak stiffened, the flared ridges of his neck widening. For the first time, Julian saw a pulse there, close to the base of the broad scales, and it was racing. “I'd never toy with you,” he said earnestly, stroking a thumb over Garak's cheek. It felt like his palm, slightly rough. Experimentally, he shifted the direction of the stroke downward. Now it felt incredibly smooth and silky. Warmth spread in his belly and radiated in all directions through his body. He couldn't believe what he was doing, yet he had no desire to stop. “I care for you. You know that.”

He slipped his hands further back, his fingers delving into the sleek thickness of that straight, black hair. It wasn't as soft as in his dream, but it had weight to it, giving him something to grasp and hold. Lowering his head, he nuzzled his cheek against Garak's and let his breath spill over the curve of the man's ear. He heard Garak inhale sharply through his nose and felt the tension in him coil. “Elim,” he whispered, “you can touch me, you know. You don't have to stand there like that and just take it.”

“No, Julian,” the tailor's voice came low, ragged and hoarse. With what seemed like supreme effort, he reached up and gently disentangled himself from the doctor's hold. His grasp of both of Julian's wrists tightened painfully before releasing. Hurt and confused, Julian drew a breath to question him, but Garak stilled it with a finger to his lips. “Not here. If I start with you, I don't trust myself to stop. The infirmary is no place for this, and I don't want to be interrupted.”

The warmth in his belly flared to intense heat, and he felt himself stiffening fully erect with that tremulous confession. He couldn't argue with the logic of what Garak said, and he couldn't just abandon his post for the day because he suddenly wanted to more than anything. “You're right,” he said, surprised to find the shakiness had now infected his voice as well. “Tonight then?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” the Cardassian hissed. “Tonight. Now, if you value your office and my sanity at all, please unlock the door.”

“Garak?” he said.

“What? Doctor?” Garak asked, over enunciating every syllable and fixing him with a glassy stare.

“My place, or yours?” 

**Part III**

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

The afternoon hours passed like days. Not even his beloved Preloc could lift Garak out of his terrible anticipation. Doubts plagued him in droves. What if the doctor didn't show? What if he did only to say he had changed his mind? What if he found Cardassian physiology disgusting? What if, what if, what if? It was enough to make him wish he still had the implant if only to ease the anxiety. He didn't dare to drink. He didn't want anything impairing either his ability or his senses. He had never allowed himself to hope that the dear young man would return his attraction or feelings. Now that it had been thrown unexpectedly into his lap, he hardly knew what to do with it. Did he really want to take this risk?

This was no mere dalliance, he knew, no scratching of an itch, as impersonal as riding on a public shuttle with someone and getting off at separate stops, never to see one another again. He couldn't leave this station. Come good or ill with the Starfleet officer, the two of them were stuck in this place together. If things did go badly or turn sour, they'd still see one another nearly every day on the Promenade. There were also their lunches to consider. He would never admit to Julian how much those lunches meant, what a lifeline the man had been for him in his long, painful exile. Did he truly want to jeopardize that in order to take it to the next level?

With a start, he realized he hadn't thought of Palandine in almost four months, not once. No, his thoughts had turned more and more toward the young doctor, anchoring the tailor firmly in the here and now and crowding out the demons of his past. What would Tain do if he discovered, as he inevitably would, that Garak had taken things a step further than enjoying the comfort of a friendship? Would he go after the doctor to spite his son? He wouldn't put it past him.

As he considered all of these issues and many more besides, he tidied his already pin neat quarters, washed himself very thoroughly and carefully, and discarded close to half a dozen outfits before settling on a black tunic with silver scroll work on the sleeves, fitted black pants, boots and a leather belt. He combed his hair to a high gloss and looked in his full length mirror with a critical eye. “You eat too much spice pudding,” he told himself in disgust, not happy with the width of his midriff. What was he doing, going after this boy who was over twenty-five years his junior? It didn't matter that the average Cardassian lifespan exceeded the average human one. The age difference was significant.  _He's no more boy than Major Kira is a girl,_  he countered.  _Age isn't everything._

He replicated some flowers, only to discard them less than fifteen minutes later. About thirty minutes before Julian usually got off work, he replicated more and arranged them in an empty vase.  _He doesn't have to know they haven't been here for a few days,_  he thought. Should he have food? He should probably have something besides kanar! He had never seen Julian even try to drink kanar. It was too late to leave his quarters. The doctor could arrive early, and what would he think if he did only to find Garak not there?

Reluctantly, he put a private call through to Quark's. Fortune must have been smiling on him, he thought, as Rom was the one to answer the hail. “I know it's a bit of an unusual request, but could I have a chilled bottle of Verdelet delivered to my quarters right away?”

“I don't see why not,” Rom said after craning his neck around to be sure Quark wasn't there to overhear. “Is it OK with you if I deliver it? You can just, uh, pay me directly.”

“That's fine, Rom,” Garak said. “I'll see you shortly.” With the way Quark treated his brother, Garak had no qualms about letting the man profit a little on the side if he could get away with it. Less than a minute later, his door chimed. With a sinking feeling, he knew there was no way Rom could have gotten there so quickly. It had to be Julian, a little early. “Calm yourself,” he murmured. Straightening and squaring his shoulders, he called cheerfully, “Enter!”

Julian stepped through the door, dressed in a fitted navy tunic and dark chocolate trousers. Garak's breath caught in his throat, but he managed a smile. “I'm glad you came,” he said. As so often happened when he was nervous, once he began to talk, he couldn't quite shut it off. “You're a bit early. I've sent for some wine, since I don't believe you like kanar. You don't like kanar, do you? It's no matter. I hope you do like Verdelet. Rom will be bringing it. Fortunate, no? Quark might ask questions or talk, but Rom keeps his head down and his mouth shut.”

The entire time he spoke, Julian had been smiling, the smile deepening in increments. “Elim,” he said finally, “breathe.”

“I do sometimes get verbose, don't I?” he asked. He wondered how it was that he was undoubtedly the more experienced of the two, and yet he seemed the more nervous. Focusing more on Julian and less on his own racing thoughts, he realized that while the young man might seem calm on the surface, his pupils were wide, his face slightly flushed, and his pulse very visible. So the playing field is more level than I thought, he thought, able to relax somewhat. “I'm being a terrible host. Can I get you anything while we wait for Rom?”

The doctor shook his head and crossed to take a seat on Garak's sofa. He perched toward the front, his back straight and hands clasped neatly over both knees. “No, thank you,” he said. “You look very nice. I've always liked that tunic.”

“Thank you,” Garak replied. “You look very nice, too. Those colors do wonders for your complexion.” The door chime sounded. “I'll only be a moment,” he said, fetching some leks from the back and answering. He blocked Rom's view of the room by standing squarely in the doorway. “Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said, taking the bottle and thrusting payment toward the Ferengi.

“You're welcome,” Rom said as he took the money. He tried to look around the imposing Cardassian unsuccessfully. “So, uh, are you entertaining?”

“Indeed I am,” Garak said with a bland smile. “I must get back to my guest now. Good-bye, Rom.” He stepped back, and the door slid shut. “I may have spoken too soon when I said he wouldn't be inquisitive.” He turned, only to find Julian standing not so far away. Hearing always had been his weakest sense.

The man took the bottle of wine from him and set it aside on his dining table. “I...I've never...” he said, looking perplexed. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I've never really been with a man,” he said, “or a Cardassian, male or female. I hope I don't...”

The tailor felt something inside him melt. That Julian would worry about such things as much as he had touched him deeply. He set aside his uncertainty and took both warm hands in his cool ones. “My dear Doctor, you don't have to worry about a thing. I won't push you to anything past your comfort. You set the pace, and if you need to stop...”

Julian leaned in then, pressing a warm, soft kiss to Garak's lips. They twined the fingers of their joined hands, tan and gray. His lips were softer than Garak had expected, their fullness sensual and slow in their exploration. They kept their eyes open, lids at half mast. So close, Garak could see more of the green and gold, astonished at the intensity of the colors flecking the brown. The last traces of his nerves melted away with the deepening of the kiss, their tongues twining and lightly thrusting. He let his eyes slide shut and surrendered more of himself to sensation.

They released one another's hands. Garak felt Julian's arms slip about his waist and tighten, the clasp of hands over his broad back, and he lifted his hands to cup the soft, smooth face so close to his own. He had never engaged with the Bajorans the way so many of his fellow Cardassians had during the occupation, but as he lightly traced Bashir's cheeks and jaw and felt the velvety soft nub of an earlobe, he thought he was beginning to understand why they did. He could lose himself in that alone for longer than he believed the doctor would have patience to tolerate.

Tangling his fingers in the wavy hair, her marveled at how different it felt from any Cardassian hair, wiry and short. His jaw worked with the kiss, both men now chest to chest, groin to groin, pulling one another tighter and as close as they could get. Julian moaned softly into Garak's mouth, the breath captured and shared. He was exquisite, everything Garak had hoped he would be and more, so beautifully responsive. 

Julian broke the kiss, his eyes now black as night, pupils as wide as they would go. “I want to see you, Garak,” he whispered. “I've never seen you.”

The Cardassian felt his breath hitch, a small stab of self-consciousness causing him to hesitate. “Cardassians...we don't really...”

“I know,” the man nuzzled his neck, his hot breath pulsing gently against the sensitive scales there. “I don't think I've ever seen you in anything that didn't cover you to everything but your hands, neck and head. Please,” he said.

“You saw me in a hospital gown,” Garak stalled.

Julian grinned wickedly and bit down on the scale ridge just beneath Garak's ear, muttering through his clench of teeth, “That doesn't count.”

Intense pleasure lanced straight down every nerve ending to his groin, his breath hissing through his teeth on a sharp inhale. “All right, all right,” he said breathlessly. “You've convinced me.” Pressing his lips together, he stepped back and began unfastening the hidden hooks at the front of his tunic. He would later reflect that he could have done this more artfully. At the time, he was surprised he had enough wits about him to do it at all. Lowering his gaze, he shrugged out of the tunic, carefully folded it, and set it aside.

Julian watched him, his lips twitching as he tried to avoid cutting a smile. “So fastidious,” he remarked.

“Yes, I am,” Garak replied with no trace of irony. Resigned that his spice pudding addiction had betrayed him, he tugged his form fitting undershirt over his head. Before he could get it off, he heard Julian gasp and found himself glad that in that instant that he couldn't see his face. Just as he pulled free, he felt Julian's hands tracing the evenly scalloped scales of his ribcage and his mouth at the top of the inverted teardrop scale of his sternum. He drew with his lips and dipped his tongue into the indentation. Garak released a shuddering breath and cupped the back of the man's head, his other hand braced on a shoulder. “That is...unbelievably wicked of you,” he gasped. “Criminal, even.”

“What's criminal is that you hide yourself away under all those thick clothes,” the doctor murmured. “You're beautiful.”

“Oh, Doctor,” he sighed, his head tipping back and eyes closing. He allowed the sensual exploration of his scales, his pectoral and dorsal ridges, anything that Julian wanted to kiss, lick, or touch, front and back. No small part of him wanted to seize the man and ravish him, to take what he had denied himself for so very long. Perhaps some other time he knew that he would, but not a moment before Julian told him that he was ready for that. For now, he let the desire build, a slow burn that was much hotter than any quick explosion of need, spent and gone in an instant. The front of his trousers was soaked with his moisture, and he had long since erupted from the ridged slit that protected his sex organ when it wasn't in use. A thick, heady scent, a combination of Julian's arousal and his own, grew stronger with each passing moment.

He felt the doctor fumbling at his waistband, the man kneeling before him and looking up with passion glazed eyes. Gently, he guided his hands to the proper hooks and snaps and let him release the taut pressure of the fabric. He gasped softly as cold air assaulted him, but it didn't last more than a few seconds. Julian took one look at him, groaned, and drew him deeply into his mouth, sliding downward with steady suction. Garak's knees tried to buckle, and he bit back an outcry. So much for worrying about their differences!

“Wait,” he said hoarsely, drawing back and kneeling, too. He deftly removed Julian's tunic and tugged down his trousers. There was so much he wanted to do to him, but that was what seconds, thirds, and more were for. In that moment, he wanted only to be able to share the intense pleasure, to give as well as receive. He lay back flat on the floor, guiding the doctor with his hands until he could tell he knew what he intended.

He slid atop Garak, the heat of his skin searing hot in comparison to the cool scales. Spreading his knees well to either side of Garak's neck, he lowered his hips. Soon, both of them completed the circle, each taking the other, tasting, lapping, and suckling. He tasted exquisite, salty, sharp, and musky. Garak made good use of his long, muscular tongue and took great pleasure in the sounds and tremors he coaxed from his partner. He stroked and kneaded Julian's slim hips and the firm twin curves of his haunches, alternately raking with his nails and the rough side of his small palm scales. Before long the doctor was bucking and thrashing, trying to push into the grasp of Garak's hands and into his drawing mouth simultaneously. The noises Julian made deep in his throat vibrated his mouth, a sensation that came close to pushing Garak past the edge of his control.

He pulled off of Garak only long enough to say, “I'm very close, Garak. If you don't want me to come in your mouth, you should pull back.”

Smiling inwardly at the sweet consideration, he simply redoubled his efforts in answer. Sweat rolled off of Julian's body and trickled in rivulets between Garak's scales, tickling him all over and pooling beneath him wetly. He wrapped his tongue tightly, thrusting and cork screwing. Julian's rhythm with his mouth broke entirely, and he lifted his head on a long, hoarse cry. Wetness flooded Garak's mouth. He moaned low, lapping at it and carefully slowing, then stopping and letting Julian decide when or if he wanted to pull out. He accepted the welcome weight of his partner sprawled atop his body and raked his nails lightly up and down the smooth back, the skin velvety soft but the muscle beneath well formed.

Julian made an unintelligible noise, paused, and tried again. “That was...I don't have words for how that was,” he said muzzily.

“I get the impression not many people strike you speechless,” Garak said smugly.

“More than manage it for you, I'd think,” Julian mused playfully, lifting and rolling to the side. “I'm going to have to see if I can do that.”

“You're setting yourself a daunting task,” Garak warned with a twinkle in blue eyes.

“Oh, my dear tailor, I love a challenge,” he replied with a truly wicked grin. “You're going to have to help me, though. For example, does this feel good?” He settled languidly between Garak's loosely spread legs and gently stroked a finger at the opening of the ridged slit just beneath his exposed dark member.

Garak's hips lifted of their own volition. “Mnh, yes,” he said, his voice constricted. “You could say that.”

“And this?” he slipped the finger inward, letting the fingertip follow the unexposed curve of Garak's erection.

The Cardassian's back arched away from the floor, and he gasped. “Oh, yes,” he breathed, blue eyes rolling back. His hands pressed against the unyielding plane of the floor, scrabbling futilely for purchase and eventually curling into tight fists. A second finger joined the first, and then a third. Garak had no idea how long the exquisite torture continued. He was thrilled with Julian's willingness to explore, the creative ways he set to wringing every drop of pleasure from him that he possibly could, and the completely endearing way he checked on him when he was inarticulate for too long. “Are you still all right? Do you need me to stop?”

“Yes, no, whatever you do, don't stop,” was always the response he gave to this. His stamina far exceeded Julian's, but Julian was quick to become aroused again, and again after that. By the time he had Garak quivering and on the very edge of release, he had climaxed three times, his creamy seed smeared across the Cardassian's lower belly and his inner thighs. He drew Garak in as deeply and as tightly as he could, pulsing his mouth over the dark, slick flesh in small, powerful motions.

“Julian,” he panted. “If you don't want...”

The man didn't let him finish the sentence, bearing down and pulling hard with his tongue and suction. Pleasure every bit as intense as the wire at its best flooded his body. He rode the crest of the wave, conscious thought driven to a dark, hidden corner of his mind for the duration of the seemingly endless release. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes and pooled in the pockets of his eye ridges. When he was fully in possession of his faculties again, he found his head cradled in the hollow of Julian's shoulder and his cheek resting against the man's smooth chest. Gentle fingers sifted his hair back from his forehead. “You're back,” Julian whispered and bent his head to press a kiss to Garak's temple.

Garak nodded wordlessly and lifted his hand to stroke softly over the curled chest hairs, fingers curved inward and the backs of his nails dragging lightly over brown skin. “You're beautiful, too,” he said, glancing upward to meet soft brown eyes. He had never in his life seen such a look directed his way. It burned him, and when he realized he could put a name to it, it frightened him a little, more when he felt its echo rising in his breast and threatening to overwhelm all logic and sense.  _I could love this man,_  he marveled.  _I think part of me already does._

Rising to one elbow, he leaned against Julian's side and brushed damp curls from his high forehead. A small smile played upon the human's swollen lips, bruised from the force of their kisses. Garak traced his lips with his fingertip, answering his smile when he suckled the tip past his teeth and teased it with his tongue. “Come to bed?” the tailor offered tentatively, wondering if the doctor would understand the full significance of what he said.

Julian's lips parted in surprise. “You...you want me to sleep here, with you?” he asked.

Garak nodded and glanced away. “Of course, I understand if you can't, or if you don't want to do that.”

Julian shushed him with a tender kiss. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be,” he said, emotion in his cultured tones. “Come on, then, before you get cold.” He stood first and offered a hand up to Garak who accepted it willingly.

Arm in arm, they walked into the bedroom, both knowing fully well that things had changed irrevocably between them. Garak chose not to give too much thought to the future, having learned in his exile how to appreciate the moment for its full worth and leave tomorrow to its own devices. He hadn't slept with another, truly slept, since his days in the dorm at the Bamarren Institute for State Intelligence, and then it wasn't by choice. Belatedly, he wondered if Julian snored. Smiling as he climbed into the narrow bed beside him, he realized he would soon find out.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever slash-fic, originally published on LiveJournal Dec. 8, 2009. At the time I had no idea I was embarking upon a series or the curve balls life would throw my way to prevent its completion. I will be reposting the older fics first, followed by new content once everything is here. To a large degree, I stick to canon, writing between the lines and episodes and developing side characters I loved and wished we could have seen more. Later in the series, I make some canon departures that I feel serve my version of the story. I don't believe at any point that it departs enough to become an AU, but if you're a complete canon stickler, this is probably not going to be your cup of tea.
> 
> S., this is for you, love.


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